Monday, 14 April 2014

What hill is that? I used to wonder of the prominent peak somewhere in the jumbled mass of Lochaber in my early Munro-bagging days. I would go to the library and look it up but couldn't find it in any of the Munro books. It was only after repeated trips that the penny dropped. It was Sgurr Dhomhnuill, highest peak in Ardgour. And it wasn't in any Munro book because it was a Corbett - but one of those special ones, a rough, west-coast Corbett that had to be climbed from sea-level and had views to match any Munro.

Summit view:

We arrived in light spirits after a night camping at the Kingshouse, my ice hammer a £3.50 loan from Glencoe Mountain Sports as I'd forgotten to pack my axe. The primroses were out and birds singing in the forest at Strontian, but it was still winter on the summits. Spring is my favourite time of year. Snow, sunshine, long hours of daylight - and no midges!

Sgurr Dhomnuill from below:

On exiting the forest a north wind hit us hard, but as we climbed higher the views improved - Garbh Bheinn, Beinn Resipol, Ben More on Mull; and east, Glencoe, Cruachan and Lochaber - an unaccustomed aspect for most people, the quick ferry ride at Corran being enough to ensure Ardgour is little frequented.

Ascending in high sprits:

The summit was uncomfortably windy, and as we had come up a bit of mixed snow/rock scrambling, we decided not to return the same way. We headed down virgin snow to make a circuit of the hill, our route ending at a cliff face. Dave went round it, the snow disturbed - presumably someone else had already come this way. This was of some comfort. A fierce gust of wind pinned us down, crouching and grasping the hired axe for dear life. When I was able to look up again, Dave had disappeared. The snow seemed less stable now. Hard to tell where the feet were going with a face full of spindrift and ears full of screaming wind, and as far as I could tell, the slope I was standing on ended in nothing. I didn't want to slip. But where had Dave gone? My nerves tingled. I suddenly realised the disturbed snow wasn't footprints. It was avalanche debris! Billy came into view behind me.

"I'm shitting myself," I shouted.

I wasn't going to go on, but where was Dave? "Dave!" shouted Billy. He had spotted him. A second later I saw his axe battering at the edge of the precipice, and he hove slowly into view. 'Back up?' I pointed. 'Back to the top,' Dave signed.

Billy led the way, making sure of each slow step. Much of the snow was sugary, and would provide no purchase for arrest in the event of a fall. Once on higher, safer ground, Billy and I laughed in relief. Dave had cramp, and didn’t feel like laughing.

"It was icy, sheer rock. Terraced cliffs. I was slipping... not a good descent route."

We descended the way we had come up - which was easy, nothing compared to what we had just foolishly attempted.

Once safely back in the forest our spirits revived, though we were humbled by the lesson a mere Corbett had taught us. Despite our combined experience, we were still capable of
finding our boundaries suddenly and uncomfortably stretched. Respect your
mountain, whatever its height.

2 comments:

I always think some of the Corbett's are harder than the Munros as many are completely trackless. Sgurr D's a belter of a hill and that area is really special as it's still a quiet corner of Scotland for the connoisseur, even in peak summer season.

About Me

I've been interested in Scotland's countryside and history since leaving school, and am delighted to have the opportunity to share a love and knowledge of Scotland with you. This blog will publish impressions from my wanderings about Scotland.